


false start

by adstalaria



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Creampie, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punch AU (kind of), Rivals With Benefits, Semi-Public Sex, Street Racers AU?, slight come eating kink maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adstalaria/pseuds/adstalaria
Summary: Mark feels his patience wearing thin. “If you’re asking me if I wanna fuck in your car thenyes, Johnny.” He rubs himself a little harder on Johnny’s leg. "Fuck me in your car."“I was actually going to ask if you’d be willing to wait here while I go get it,” Johnny says, voice pitching in surprise. “But that’s even better.”--Mark really is kind of fucked up. But Johnny is too, so maybe that’s why it works.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 24
Kudos: 234





	false start

**Author's Note:**

> i meant for this to be a short pwp but somehow it turned into a 10k long monster with still no real plot? this is also heavily based on the 1st player teasers for punch (bc that's literally how long ago i started this lmao)
> 
> this is also my first proper attempt at smut so i hope it's... passable... thank you

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

Mark pulls back, ignoring the wetness that splashes onto his face. He drags the bat on the ground as he winds up to strike again when—

“Mark.”

He stops. The voice draws his attention to the opening of the alley where a familiar tall figure stands. Once he realizes who it is, though, he turns back to his previous engagement, readying his bat yet again.

He manages to land two more hits as footsteps hastily approach him and rip the bat out of his hands and is forcefully turned around to face the intruder. A hollow clang echoes through the empty alleyway from the impact of metal against pavement.

“ _Christ_ , Mark _._ What the fuck are you doing?” Johnny sounds less than pleased, hands on Mark’s shoulders and fingers digging in as if he were afraid that Mark would try to throw him off.

On any ordinary basis, Mark would have. But Johnny isn’t the only one who’s in a foul mood.

“What are you doing here?” Mark grumbles. “I thought you already left.”

“I came back,” Johnny says. “Because Jaehyun said he saw you sneaking out from the afterparty with a _bat_. What the fuck, Mark?”

Mark scoffs. Leave it to Jaehyun to be a snitch. He had been trying to hang out with Mark and his friend circle far too often as of late, always trying to catch him after a race to talk even when Mark would be in a bad mood after a loss. It doesn’t help that Jaehyun is ridiculously charming, winning over the hearts of both Donghyuck and Jungwoo to the point where they actually invite the older man to hang out with them outside of their competitions. A part of him knows that Jaehyun isn’t a bad person; he’s the farthest thing from, but he’s friends with Johnny first and foremost, so that automatically paints him in a bad light in Mark’s eyes.

That, and the fact that Jaehyun has Johnny’s number on speed dial.

Johnny must have rushed back to the party once hearing about Mark, because he had forgotten to put his racing jacket back on, leaving him only in his undershirt in the middle of the night. His hair is tousled and cheeks flushed from the cold wind, visible even under the old, flickering street lights. Mark can feel how cold Johnny’s hands are over his own jacket.

Mark tries to push off Johnny’s hands, but it only serves to make the other tighten his grip. “Let go.”

“No. God, Mark.” Johnny looks ready to either deck him in the face or worse. “At least tell me that guy isn’t dead.”

Mark looks over his shoulder to the crumpled body at their feet. The guy’s bleeding from the head, courtesy of a good hit from Mark’s bat, but he can see from the slow rise of his chest that the guy is only knocked out cold. He may need to go to the hospital, but he isn’t dead.

 _Yet_ , Mark’s mind supplies. Who knows what the answer would have been if Johnny had found them any later than he had.

“He’ll be fine,” Mark answers tersely, avoiding Johnny’s fierce gaze.

“ _Fine_?” Johnny repeats like Mark had answered with today’s weather forecast. He looks like he’s at a loss for words. He lets go of Mark’s shoulders, kicking the bat further away as if that would discourage Mark from picking it up again and continuing to beat up the already unconscious guy slumped against the wall.

Mark, for the most part, behaves, but he does contemplate the risk of going for the bat again. He decides against it when he sees Johnny run a hand down his face and sigh deeply.

“Mark,” Johnny calls for his attention again, the anger from earlier deflating to just plain disappointment. “How many times has this been? How many times have I had to find you like this?”

Mark hasn’t kept count of the faces whom his bat has met. All of the moments seem to blur together in his mind, anyways, so trying to distinguish who he has or hasn’t beat the shit out of is no easy feat for him. He shrugs.

Johnny only looks more disappointed, but Mark has never really cared about what Johnny thinks of him outside of their races. The only thing that matters is whether he wins against him or gets to fuck him. Right now, Mark’s hoping for the latter.

“This is the fourth time, Mark,” Johnny answers for him. “The fourth time I’ve had to stop your stupid ass from _literally_ almost committing _murder_.”

Then Mark supposes that this is the fourth time he’s hearing this same exact conversation from him. First Johnny catches him, and then he’ll go on and on about how Mark is too troublesome to handle and that he can’t keep turning a blind eye to all the shit he’s done, but in the end he’ll always come back; because Mark is one of the best opponents he’s ever faced and losing his biggest competition would also mean losing the thrill of the race.

And true to Mark’s words, Johnny continues, sounding incredibly frustrated. “I can’t keep pretending that this doesn’t happen. Why do you keep doing this?”

The truth is, there has only been one real reason why Mark spills so much blood. He can still remember that smarmy smile that prick had when he had come up to Johnny to congratulate him on winning first place (to which Mark had only been a mere few nanoseconds away from achieving, if Johnny hadn’t pulled out in front during the last leg). He can remember how he had touched him by throwing his arm around his shoulder and knocking their heads together in a way that made Mark’s skin crawl with disgust. No one should be touching Johnny like that, and especially not some nobody piece of crap like that faceless NPC. Mark had almost wanted to put his car back into gear and just drive into him. Instead, he overheard the nobody invite Johnny to the afterparty that would be taking place right after the race (which was also completely pointless, because Johnny was going to go to the party anyways). So Mark waited there, watching as the guy hung off Johnny and his friends like he meant something to him, and Mark had remembered that he had brought his bat with him— the one he customized a bright orange that he always kept in his car's trunk after the first time he did this—and followed the guy out when the party was dying out and Johnny had already left. And then the rest was history.

“Why do you even care?” Mark spits out, bitter and angry. “What, did that asshole matter to you that much?"

“Don’t change the subject. This is about _you_ ,” Johnny responds as he jabs a finger into Mark’s chest. “Has it ever occurred to you what could happen if anyone other than me caught you doing this? Have you even thought about the consequences?”

Mark isn’t an idiot. He knows he’s already toeing a very dangerous line where he is, but every time Johnny also comes to stop him without fail. It almost feels like routine; he smashes someone’s face in, Johnny comes to stop him, they argue just like this, someone ends up on their knees, rinse and repeat.

He rolls his eyes and glares into Johnny’s intense eyes. “So what? We do illegal shit every day. What’s the difference if I break a few noses along the way?”

Johnny returns the glare, running a hand through his already messy hair, and steps away from Mark as if the added distance could be of any help.

Mark keeps going. “Besides,” he adds with a scoff. “Why is me getting caught such a big deal to you? I don’t ask you to come clean up my messes and I don’t ask you to—”

“You think I haven’t noticed that you beat the shit out of every guy who looks at me funny?” Johnny scathingly interjects. “You’re a lot of things, Mark Lee, but subtle isn't one of them.”

It takes all of Mark's willpower to not flinch at the accusation. He has never tried to purposefully hide the reason he does any of this from anyone, really. It’s not like he lurks in the shadows ready to strike anyone who gets within a five-feet radius of Johnny at a moment's notice—he uses a bright orange baseball bat for God's sake. He doesn’t care that much about keeping secrets from the other.

He had already suspected that Johnny would have eventually noticed the patterns in Mark's work ever since the second or third incident, and how they would all lead to himself. It would also begin to explain why Jaehyun had been getting so insistent on hanging around Mark and his friends if he were actually doing it purely because Johnny had told him to. Johnny is remarkably perceptive in that way, able to pay attention to so much of his own surroundings while simultaneously looking like he doesn’t.

Mark grinds his teeth together. Plants his feet on the ground to settle himself. “So what are you trying to say.”

“That you’re so blinded by your obsession with me that you’re risking jail time for it?” Johnny answers flippantly, shaking his head to flip his hair out of his eyes. “What, was fucking around after a race not enough for you anymore? You’ve been feeling so deprived of my attention that you’re acting out and throwing these messed up tantrums?”

Mark feels himself flush with shame. He tries his best to look unaffected. “Don’t act so full of yourself,” he says as his mind scrambles at anything he could use as leverage.

He casts another glance at Johnny, who's still got his back against the wall, even though Mark is the one feeling cornered right now. He's reminded of the other times he's found himself in this similar situation.

The first time Johnny had been shocked, looking between Mark and his unsuspecting victim like he couldn't believe that Mark had the capability to be so vile. The second time, Johnny had been furious, far worse than he is right now. They had argued for what felt like ages only for the tension between them to snap when Johnny got so fed up he physically dragged Mark away into an empty car garage, bent him over right then and there, and fucked him raw. The third time, which had been only two weeks ago, had gone most similarly to this time and ended with Johnny blowing him in the bathroom after trying to wash the blood off Mark's racing jacket. The bloodstain is still there.

This time it’s going much the same way, except Johnny has never admitted that he knew of Mark’s motives for who knows how long. If he knew, then why would he still be letting Mark continue all this? Sure, maybe Jaehyun had been a way to keep an eye on him, but there has to be an easier way for him to keep Mark in check. If he knew and wanted Mark to stop, then he wouldn’t have left the party in the first place only to come back when Mark had already knocked a few teeth out of the poor sap who got on his nerves that night.

Unless, that was what Johnny was aiming for this whole time.

It’s no secret that Johnny loves being the center of attention. He’s always been the type of man who could draw a crowd no matter what he’s doing. Mark can recall a moment around the time they first met and their rivalry hadn’t gotten to the point where it is now, when Johnny had admitted to him in a drunk whisper that he got into racing because he liked having people all over him when he won, and it had also been that exact moment that Mark decided that he couldn’t stand Johnny Suh.

But here he is, fueling the very same quality he despises.

“You keep talking about how I’m doing this for your attention,” Mark finally says once he has gathered his thoughts. “But I’d say you’re not as noble in your intentions as you claim you are.”

Johnny, for the most part, looks unperturbed, but Mark has known him long enough to notice the small things about him even in the dim darkness of the night. The shift in Johnny’s broad shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed, and the miniscule motion is enough to embolden Mark like a newly lit flame.

Mark lickes his dry lips as he feels a rush of adrenaline go through him at his newly gained leverage. “If you _actually_ wanted me to stop, maybe you wouldn’t be staring at me across the room while you let a guy hang all over you. Maybe you’d actually put in an effort to stop me in a way that doesn’t involve your _dick_.” He feels bold enough to take a step closer.

At the lack of reaction, he steps closer and closer until they’re practically chest to chest, lips so close they can feel each other’s breath. He continues, voice low under his breath, “But I don’t think you want that, do you?”

Now he’s the one backing Johnny into a metaphorical and literal corner. Mark would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this. He rarely gets to have the advantage over Johnny, even outside of their races, but now that he does, he doesn’t want to let it go.

Johnny lets out a shaky laugh. He bites his lip. "This is some real fucked up foreplay." His hand twitches like he wants to reach up and touch, but he makes no motion to do so. Not unless Mark does it first.

"You’re saying this now?” Mark rolls his eyes. “When we’ve been fucking for months?” he asks, trailing a finger down from Johnny’s chest and stopping at his crotch. He’s already half-hard and it makes Mark unbearably hot.

“Well it’s been mostly me fucking that bad mood of yours out of you,” Johnny begins smugly. “And you’re— _shit!_ ”

Mark cuts him off by pressing the flat of his palm hard into Johnny’s clothed dick. He smirks up at him. “I’m what, Johnny?” he urges him to continue.

Johnny breathes out slowly, trying to gain composure even as Mark keeps palming his dick through his jeans. “You’re always in a bad mood,” he hisses.

“No thanks to you,” Mark says frankly. He’s about had enough of their banter, so instead of responding any further, he decides to drop down to the ground. His knees ache from taking the brunt of the force, but he ignores it in order to quickly unzip Johnny’s pants and pull his dick out.

Johnny’s nowhere near fully hard, but even at half mast he’s still _big_ , and Mark still needs both his hands to encompass its length. He crudely spits into his hand before taking Johnny’s cock, quickly trying to coax it to full hardness so that they could move on to the main event.

Johnny groans from above him, hands finally moving and finding purchase in Mark’s hair. The grip he has is urging; a silent demand for Mark to hurry up and get his mouth on him already.

And Mark wastes no time, wrapping his lips around the head first, gathering saliva in his mouth and letting it dribble wetly down the shaft. He swirls his tongue around the tip, occasionally dipping into the slit and listening to Johnny’s near silent moans while his own dick stirs. The fingers in his hair tighten, as if Johnny’s torn between letting Mark do his thing or pulling him down so that he can choke. Mark thinks he wouldn’t mind either.

A few kitten licks and a half-assed handjob later, Mark senses from the insistent tugging of his hair and the stream of murmured curses that Johnny is beginning to get impatient. Mark debatedly wants to keep going like this, just to test how far Johnny is willing to let him go, but he's also getting uncomfortably hard and wants to get off, too. So Mark finally sinks his mouth down, getting in a little more than half of Johnny’s cock in his mouth before it threatens to hit the back of his throat and make him gag. He's done this enough that he knows what to do.

Johnny is hot and heavy in his throat, throbbing with heat. Mark keeps going, driven by Johnny's heady scent that fogs his mind with a burning arousal, pushing himself to take more and more, until he can feel himself on the brink of choking. He pulls off with a spluttering gasp, a thick mixture of drool and precum dripping down his chin and a thin veil of tears covering his vision.

"Jesus. _Fuck_." Johnny sighs, taking large gulps of air as if he were the one doing the deepthroating. "Holy fuck." And his hands are everywhere, brushing across Mark's cheekbones and combing through his hair.

Mark swallows. His throat aches slightly. But he wants more—anything Johnny is willing to give. His voice is rough when he tells him, "Fuck my throat."

Johnny groans deeply, wasting no time to tangle his fingers in the hair at Mark's nape and pull him in. Mark barely manages to catch a breath before he's almost gagging on Johnny's cock again.

Contrary to what people may think, Johnny is not a gentle of a lover as his outward persona suggests. At least, not with Mark.

He fucks Mark's mouth in earnest, holding Mark’s head in place as he thrusts and hits the back of Mark’s throat each time. Mark does his best to breathe through his nose, hands curled around Johnny’s thick thighs and digging into the flesh, sucking and licking and swallowing whenever he can find the opportunity to. He thinks he might have choked a few times, but everything seems to be moving too fast for his mind to catch up. His dick is almost painfully hard at this point as every push and pull of Johnny’s hips sends shivers down his spine and he desperately wants to get himself off to the sound of Johnny’s moans and the feeling of cock against his tongue. He hears himself gurgle wetly as Johnny pushes him all the way down the shaft and holds him there—the telltale sign that he’s going to come.

“ _Fuck_ ,” is the only thing Mark hears before Johnny is coming down his throat, and Mark thinks he’s gonna pass out from how hot it is. He gulps it all down earnestly, not letting a single drop escape, until he’s lightheaded and struggling to breathe as he milks every last bit from Johnny’s weakly twitching dick. When Johnny finally releases him from the monstrously strong grip he has on his head, he pulls off with a loud pop and gasps for air. He feels he might actually pass out for real.

Mark isn’t the only one out of breath, because when he looks up Johnny is also panting, a thin sheen of sweat across his skin making him shine under the cheap lights.

There’s only the sound of their heavy breathing between them.

“Damn it, Mark,” Johnny growls, grabbing Mark’s arm and pulling him up to his feet like a ragdoll in order to give him a biting kiss.

It hardly feels like a kiss, with Johnny biting at his lips hard enough to hurt but not enough to make them bleed. Mark opens his mouth, inviting Johnny to come in and taste himself on Mark’s tongue. He feels hands roam across his body; on his hips, squeezing his ass, until finally the hands land on his crotch as they hurriedly undo his belt and reach into his underwear.

Mark lets a whine slip out when a hand grabs his overly sensitive dick.

“ _Shit_ ,” Johnny curses as their lips part briefly. “Did you come already?”

Hot shame floods him. He refuses to answer, but he’s sure the angry blush on his face is hard to miss, even in the dimness of the night. He tries to push himself away, but Johnny has his other hand on Mark’s lower back to keep him trapped against him.

"You got a problem with that?" Mark grumbles, rubbing his mouth with his sleeve.

"Nope," Johnny answers with a lopsided grin. "It's hot as hell."

There's a grossly wet squelch as Johnny pulls his hand out of Mark's underwear, revealing a sticky web of glistening cum between his fingers. He wiggles them in front of Mark's face for good measure before darting his tongue out to lick them clean, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Mark resists the urge to recoil away. It's absolutely disgusting but at the same time ridiculously hot.

"Gross," he mutters, but he feels the arousal gathering low in his belly. Louder, he continues, "If you wanted to eat my cum so badly, maybe I should have had you blow me instead."

"Hm. Next time," is the only thing Johnny manages to get out before Mark pulls him back down by his shirt and licks into his mouth.

It’s still a bit unsettling to taste himself, having been so used to Johnny’s unique flavor, but the warm, slick slide of their tongues makes it easy to forget about anything else. It’s good enough that Mark can feel his lower half twitch with renewed interest, especially when Johnny drags him closer and onto the thigh he wedges between his legs. Mark can’t help but grind down, quickly getting hard again.

Johnny moves from his mouth to the sensitive spot under his ears that he regrets letting the older find out about. Mark tries to suppress his shudder when Johnny mouths at the area, abusing the sensitivity.

Johnny hums against his skin. “What do you think about a round two?”

Mark sighs, running his hands up and down Johnny’s sides and feeling up the hard muscle underneath the thin shirt. “Do you have lube?” Because that one time they fucked without it, while absolutely filthy, left Mark with a pain that lingered for days that really put him off the whole thing entirely. Or, at the very least, unwilling to repeat the incident again for a good while.

“In my car,” Johnny says. “I parked nearby. You wanna…?”

Mark feels his patience wearing thin. “If you’re asking me if I wanna fuck in your car then _yes, Johnny_.” He rubs himself a little harder on Johnny’s leg. "Fuck me in your car."

“I was actually going to ask if you’d be willing to wait here while I go get it,” Johnny says, voice pitching in surprise. “But that’s even better.”

Mark pauses his movements and makes a face at him. They’re both still in the same dark alleyway with a still-unconscious body less than ten feet away, one who could still possibly wake up at any time. Mark might have some fucked up morals, but fucking with someone else present, no matter conscious or not, is _not_ a turn on of his. He can’t believe Johnny would even suggest having sex in this situation. But then again, Mark had just given him a blowjob, so maybe he's a hypocrite.

Mark really is kind of fucked up. But Johnny is too, so maybe that’s why it works.

“It’s getting cold, so I really rather do this anywhere other than here,” Mark says.

“Good thing I’m gonna warm you up, yeah?” Johnny laughs. He lets Mark go, tucking himself back in his jeans and fixing his hair even though no one is even here to look at him other than Mark, who couldn’t care less if Johnny looked decent or not.

After fixing his windblown hair into something that still looks almost equally as messy, Johnny looks back at Mark with an unreadable expression. The staring turns to an intense squint and before Mark can open his mouth to ask what the hell he’s doing, Johnny raises his hand—the clean one—to wet his thumb and then reaches out to rub it on Mark’s cheek.

At first, Mark is so stunned at the unexpected motion that he just lets it happen, even as the rubbing stops and Johnny’s hand just stays there cupping his cheek. Mark blinks once before he regains himself and slaps the hand away. “What the hell?”

And then it’s Johnny’s turn to seemingly snap out of it. He gives Mark another look and then shakes his head. “Nothing. You just had some dried blood there, is all.” He turns away quickly and starts walking towards the street.

He’s a good couple of steps away until he stops and turns his head back to Mark. “You coming?”

Mark is rightly confused at the whole interaction, but he decides that’s not going to let it stop him from getting laid, so he pushes away the thought and goes to follow Johnny out of the alley.

While the rest of his body still feels cold, his face no longer does.

Trying to cram into the back seat of Johnny’s car ends up being a difficult feat in and of itself, considering Johnny is so tall that either of them trying to climb atop the other ends up with one of them bumping heads with the roof of the car or against the door. It takes far longer than necessary to get into a comfortable enough position where their limbs aren’t having to be twisted and bent at uncomfortable angles.

Johnny had led Mark to a parking lot where his car was parked about a five minute walk away from the alley. Even though the lot was practically empty with no signs of human life other than the two of them, the idea of them getting seen together almost had Mark ready to change his mind right there and leave, dick be damned.

But Johnny has always been convincing, especially with that mouth of his.

And that mouth is currently trailing down Mark’s chest, nipping and sucking and leaving a cooling line of saliva down his heated skin. His jacket had long been stripped off and thrown onto the floor while they were too impatient to take off his shirt, which had been bunched up at his neck to allow Johnny easier access to his body.

Mark’s got one of his knees up on the seats, pulled up right at the perfect position to knee Johnny in the dick if he wants to, but instead, he lets it stay there as Johnny ruts himself onto it while he moves back up to bite bruises into Mark’s neck. It’s easy for Mark to work himself back up when he can feel how fast Johnny gets hard just from grinding against him like this. But it also just reminds him that he’s got the nasty feeling of dried cum in his underwear while Johnny had the privilege of being able to blow his load in Mark’s mouth.

He inhales sharply when a hand slides up his body and brushes against his nipple.

He squirms underneath Johnny’s large mass, reaching between them to paw at the waistband of his own pants. It’s hard to string together words into a sentence when most of his mind is being reduced to mush. “Pants. Take 'em off." He would do it himself, but that would involve pushing Johnny off and not having his mouth on him, which isn’t something he wants right now.

Johnny, luckily, does not comment on Mark’s desperation and does what he’s told for once. He shifts away to throw off Mark’s shoes and makes quick work of his pants and underwear, leaving Mark’s entire bottom half bare save for his socks. An automatic chill runs through him as the air hits his exposed skin.

A strange wave of embarrassment fills him when Johnny pauses to unabashedly look at his naked body. He doesn’t get why when they've messed around like this plenty of times before, but the sharp gaze of Johnny’s eyes sets goosebumps upon his skin in a way that’s completely unrelated to the temperature inside the car. The feeling of being so exposed makes his skin tingle with discomfort mixed with guilty arousal.

Mark gasps when Johnny’s hand, dry and rough with every bump and callous, suddenly wraps around his hardening erection. There’s barely any lubrication other than the trickle of precum when a thumb digs into his slit. It’s definitely not enough to coat Johnny’s large hand, and the rubbing is borderline painful, but Mark can still feel himself getting even harder at the feeling.

Soon enough, Johnny decides to take pity on him and bends down in what certainly looks like an awfully uncomfortable position to lick a long, wet stripe up the underside of Mark’s cock.

“Oh fuck,” Mark moans, sitting up and scrambling to pull Johnny’s hand off his dick. “Shit shit shit. Wait. Hold on—” 

Johnny stops. “You gonna come?”

Mark shakes his head, still holding Johnny’s wrist in a death grip.

A longer bout of silence. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” Mark shakes his head again, this time more vigorously. "Just. Just get on with it, okay? I feel like my dick is gonna explode."

Johnny nods, moving away to reach over the console and into the glove compartment in the front. He rummages around for a good minute until he makes a sound when he finds what he's looking for.

He briefly flashes the small, inconspicuous sized bottle to Mark.

Why Johnny even has lube in his car in the first place is beyond him. In any other circumstance, he wouldn't have thought about it at all, but this is the car Johnny _races_ in—practically his own child with how much time and dedication he puts into working on it. And yet, he keeps lube in the damn glove compartment like a teenager. It only serves to infuriate Mark if he thinks any deeper about the implications of why Johnny even felt the need to carry it with him in the first place. He doesn't know what he should be offended at more, that he's keeping it in his racing car or that it's definitely not in there for Mark's sake.

His thoughts are, thankfully, interrupted when he hears a sharp click of a lid and cold, wet fingers trace the rim of his hole, making him jolt.

“Still with me here?” Johnny asks, noticing Mark’s thoughts running. His finger dips in slowly, breaching the ring of muscle with a gentleness that Mark would have never expected.

But they don’t have all night. They’re here in Johnny’s car, in the middle of the night, and Mark still needs to get back to his own car after this and go home.

He huffs, blowing away the hair that’s starting to stick to the light perspiration on his face. “You don’t have to go that slow. You tore up my ass the last time we fucked, remember?”

“And I already admitted that I went a little overboard,” Johnny says defensively. He looks off to the side, as if contemplating whether or not to continue. He does, and playfully, he adds, “But you were _really_ into it.” His laugh afterwards abruptly turns into a cough when Mark brings his leg up to kick him in the ribs.

“That’s why I’m telling you right now that you can afford to be rough,” Mark says, beginning to grind onto the finger inside him. “Within limits.”

Mark’s words are enough for Johnny to squeeze in another digit, this time much more abruptly. It begins to sting, but the feeling gets his blood pumping rather than deter him. He wants more.

Johnny’s fingers stretch him out diligently, curling and unfurling and reaching into him better than Mark’s own fingers ever could. Mark can’t help the small sounds that escape him as the fingers move in and out, brushing against his prostate with every motion. His erection is still as rock hard as ever, twitching and leaking every time Johnny moves against his inner walls. Mark aches to touch it, even knowing that he wouldn’t last for long if he did, but he fights against his desires and digs his fingers into the leather seats instead.

He isn’t allowed the time to get used to the two fingers as they quickly become three, pushing him to his limit and filling him up to the brim. Johnny’s long fingers reach so deep, massaging the bundle of nerves inside of him and making Mark’s dick jump against his own stomach. He knows he won’t be able to hold it in if this keeps up.

“Enough,” Mark rasps, reaching over to push weakly at Johnny’s shoulder. “I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Put- _ah_ —” A sharp curl of fingers cuts him off. Mark glares at him. “Put your damn dick in me or I’ll fucking leave.”

Johnny chuckles, running his other hand up and down Mark’s thigh. “Your wish is my command.”

He pulls his fingers out, leaving Mark with a sudden emptiness that makes him tense up. His insides ache to be filled again, like he’s missing a part of himself that he can’t get back on his own because Johnny literally holds it in his dick.

Johnny pulls away for a moment to strip off his shirt, revealing the well defined muscle underneath. The sight makes Mark only slightly envious now; an improvement from when he first got to see Johnny’s muscles up close and personal and it made him want to rip his own eyes out after.

Then, Johnny reaches down to his pants, where it literally looks like his dick is threatening to break out of its denim prison with how long he’s kept it inside. He doesn’t bother taking them off and merely slides them down enough along with his underwear to free his cock, throbbing red and angry. He grabs the earlier bottle of lube and squeezes out a generous amount onto his hand to coat himself with. He gives it a few pumps, too.

The sight of it makes Mark’s body tense in anticipation. 

He lets Johnny maneuver his body into a better position that involves throwing one of his legs over the other's shoulder to make space between his legs. Johnny lines up his bare cock with Mark, the head pressing teasingly against Mark’s entrance but not pushing in quite yet.

Like always, they don’t use a condom. They’ve messed around plenty of times before, but they haven’t actually fucked properly enough for either of them to think about carrying protection with them. Mark definitely doesn’t fuck enough with anyone else to warrant having them on his personage and he doesn’t know anything about Johnny’s own sex habits and he doesn’t particularly want to know about his other lays. It’s, of course, dumb and irresponsible of both of them, and even though Mark wants to complain about it whenever he has to spend extra time in a bathroom in some stranger’s house trying to clean himself the best he can, he always succumbs to the moment when he’s filled with Johnny’s seed. Just the thought of it is enough to drive Mark wild.

Mark sucks in a breath through his nose when Johnny finally moves and starts pushing into him, his hole stretching yet again to accommodate the intrusion. Johnny leans his upper body down towards him, moving to nip at the side of his neck and up to his ear as a distraction for the dull pain that returns as Johnny continues to slowly enter him.

After what feels like an eternity later, Johnny is finally fully sheathed inside him, buried to the hilt and reaching deep into him. He can feel Johnny everywhere, invading all of his senses and making them go haywire, burning him from the inside and out.

There’s a breathy sigh from above him. When Mark manages to look up, he sees Johnny—eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, hair hanging from his face, sweat beading on his forehead, cheeks flushed punk with exertion—and feels a sense of greedy pride bloom in his heart. He doesn’t know how many other people Johnny’s fucked, but right now, this moment is all entirely Mark’s and _he’s_ the one making golden boy, consistent 1st place champ, Johnny Suh, look like this.

It's that same ungodly feeling that makes him grab Johnny's face in his sweaty palms and kiss him, teeth knocking together clumsily.

Johnny's moan is muffled by Mark's mouth. The kiss is enough for Johnny to finally move, dragging his cock against Mark's inner walls as he pulls out until the tip is barely still inside.

The hard thrust that comes after leaves Mark with a full-body shudder that he can even feel in his toes. But before his mind can fully process his bodily reactions, Johnny pushes in again, setting a steady pace with his hips.

Each thrust hits so deep inside that it knocks the air out of him, leaving him gasping. He can feel the sweat pooling at his back, making his skin stick to the expensive leather seats and causing uncomfortable friction against his skin every time his body is shaken by the force of Johnny’s cock fucking into him.

It feels like Johnny is reaching all the way into his stomach, and yet Mark still wants more. He wiggles his hips, eagerly trying to meet every hard press into his prostate despite how difficult it is to move when Johnny has such a hard grip around his waist. Fingers dig into his hip bones as Johnny groans, deep and loud.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Johnny curses when Mark clenches down on him. “ _Mark_.”

Mark lets out a moan, short and guttural, at the way Johnny’s tongue curls around the sounds of his name.

Johnny’s body slots warm against his thighs, skin sticky from sweat. Everything around them feels so hot, as if the car itself had turned into a furnace.The heat spreads through his veins into his every crevice. Every inhale of air feels like breathing in fire, dangerous and addictive, like Mark could choke on it and die if he isn’t careful.

Mark can feel himself rapidly reaching his precipice, cock leaking white onto his stomach like it’s broken, and he begins to think that maybe his dick _is_ going to break from this; getting fucked to the point where it can no longer work unless he’s with Johnny. The passing thought makes him shudder uncontrollably. He briefly wishes that it would be the same for Johnny, for Mark to have ruined sex for him to the point where he wouldn’t be able to get it up for anyone else.

A hot flash of something like possessiveness wells up inside of him, but he lets it go just as quickly as it had appeared. That’s a whole can of worms he isn’t willing to open while he’s in the middle of getting fucked.

His patience quickly approaching its breaking point, Mark reaches down to touch his weeping dick, but freezes at the sound of Johnny’s rough voice being directed at him in between his sharp thrusts.

“Don’t touch yourself yet.”

Mark lets out an involuntary whine, biting down hard on his kiss-swollen lips. He doesn’t know why he’s letting himself be ordered around, but there had always been something in Johnny’s gruff, sex-wrecked voice that made Mark’s heart beat a little faster and his limbs turn into jelly.

That same voice lets out a huff of laughter as its owner grinds his dick into Mark in slow, precise circles. “So you’re listening to me now?” A hand wanders up Mark’s chest, rolling a nipple between his fingers and listening to the sound Mark makes from it. “If only you did that more often.”

He sounds so _patronizing_ that it almost snaps Mark out his his sex-addled haze, but the pleasure quickly envelopes him again as Johnny turns his head to suck hickies into the milky skin of Mark’s thigh.

“Johnny,” Mark pants out. “‘m close—”

And then it all stops.

It takes Mark a moment to realize, still reeling from how wound up he is, but when he does notice Johnny’s lack of movement it makes him want to cry out in frustration. He squirms and wiggles his hips in an attempt to finish the job, only for him to be halted by Johnny’s hand pushing down on him and pinning him against the seats.

“W-what—” he stutters through clenched teeth. “What the fuck?”

Johnny’s still hard and twitching inside him, so it’s not like he suddenly isn’t feeling up to it and stopped because of that. Mark blinks up at him, looking at him through his blurry vision, to see that Johnny has a glint in his eye—one that fills Mark with some kind of dread and sends a chill down his spine.

“You wanna come, don’t you?” Johnny asks, bringing a finger to rub the tip of Mark’s painfully hard cock and smiling when it spurts out more precum.

Mark digs his fingers into the seat and gnaws at his bottom lip. “Johnny—”

“Yes or no, Mark. Answer me.”

Mark swallows down an insult. “...Yes.”

“Do you think you deserve to?” Johnny hums, looking astonishingly calm compared to the storm brewing inside of Mark. “You’ve been real bad today,” he says while his fingers trail down to fondle Mark’s balls, sighing breathily when Mark’s hole pulses around him.

And Mark feels ready to burst. Every word Johnny utters along with every light, teasing touch leaves him lightheaded and dizzy. He hates how much power Johnny can hold over him during these moments when he knows Mark is ready to go crazy with desperate need.

It takes a light smack against his thigh to bring him back to earth. “Do you have anything you want to say, Mark?” Johnny adds lightly, as if he isn’t just telling Mark to give him a full on presentation with included citations on why he deserves to have an orgasm.

Mark knows what Johnny wants him to say. He tries to whittle out these kinds of responses from Mark every time they come together like this, choosing the moment where Mark is the most vulnerable and unable to think straight so he wouldn’t be able to ignore or brush him off like he usually tries to do. It’s Johnny’s way of confrontation, hidden behind the guise of a silly fuck in the back of a car.

A high sound escapes Mark’s throat as he squeezes his eyes shut in an effort to avoid Johnny’s piercing gaze. He’s so horribly turned on that it makes his thighs quiver, hole fluttering uselessly around the length inside of him.

“‘m sorry.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Johnny draws circles into his hips. “And?”

“I-I won’t do it again.” Mark doesn’t need to specify what _it_ is. His eyes are shut so hard that he can feel a wave of fresh tears well up. “I promise.”

His words are nothing but empty, bold-faced lies. Another part of the routine, because in the end, nothing Johnny says or does has the power to make Mark change and they both know that all too well. But at this very moment, they have the chance to pretend that it actually matters.

Mark keeps his eyes closed, even as he senses Johnny leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to his sweaty temple and even when he can feel the smile in his words when he praises Mark for listening.

Instead, Mark clutches at Johnny’s arms, nails pressing hard into the muscle. “Let me come, _please_.” And lets the slightest amount of vulnerability into his voice to make it waver past his lips.

He’s keen on keeping his eyes closed, but he can’t help but open them in surprise when he feels Johnny’s warm hands slide under both his knees and swiftly pushes them up to his chest as he literally _bends Mark in half_ underneath him.

Mark is so shocked that he almost forgets how to breathe when Johnny goes in to give him one more kiss before he starts moving again. It’s hard and fast right from the start, sparing no time for teasing like what he had been doing up until now. It's the only indication that he's gotten just as worked up as Mark when he had stopped moving earlier, and the frantic carnality of the way he pistons his hips is enough for Mark to _actually_ forget how to breathe.

Mark can't help but babble a unintelligible mixture of pleas and cries in between gasping breaths under all of Johnny's guttural moans. He's bent so tight that he's trapped and unable to do anything except grip onto Johnny's shoulders for dear life and take in every single heaving thrust.

Johnny's cock reaches deeper than before at this new angle, almost impossibly so, brushing against Mark’s most sensitive spots with each snap of his hips. The tight, hot coil curling inside Mark’s belly gets impossibly tighter, making him shiver and shake as he feels his orgasm coming closer and closer, ready to explode at any moment. He feels like a mess—probably looks like one too, with tears welling in his eyes and drool running down his cheek like he’s lost all control of his bodily functions.

Through his foggy vision, he peers up at Johnny’s face once again. He watches a stray bead of sweat drip down his face, as if in slow motion, starting from the forehead and running down the curvature of his cheek until it catches on his chin and falls onto Mark’s stomach. Johnny quickly notices his gaze and returns it, lips curling up into a shaky smile. Mark recognizes the furrow in his brow and the tense grip he has on Mark’s thighs enough to know that the other man is equally as close as he is.

And Johnny knows just as well as he does, because he’s taking a hand off one of Mark’s legs to reach between them and fist Mark’s cock.

Mark can barely recognize what happens next. It only takes a few pumps before the tightness in his stomach finally unravels at mach speed and he’s hit with the mind numbing pleasure of his orgasm. His vision goes white and then black as he feels his eyes roll back into his skull, mouth agape and letting out the most pitiful cross between a wail and a sob. His climax wracks his entire body, seizing up his muscles and making him shake. Throughout it all, he feels a wet warmth spread inside him and the vague sound of Johnny’s voice hitting his cotton-filled ears. Johnny must have come as well.

When Mark regains his senses, his limbs are still shaking from the aftermath after having lost their strength. His chest heaves as he gulps in air like a drowned man. He tries to sit up, only to realize that Johnny still has him bent and now that the pleasure is subsiding, his back is beginning to ache at the uncomfortable position. “Fuck,” is the only thing he says. His voice sounds terrible.

“‘Fuck’ is right,” Johnny says with a tired chuckle. He slowly lets Mark’s legs down from his shoulders, positioning Mark so that he’s laying spread out on the seats. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”

A part of Mark, the one that is an idiot and that he should never listen to, wants to protest, unwilling to part with the warmth of feeling so full. Mark doesn’t listen to it because he’s definitely not an idiot, and he’s _not_ going home with Johnny’s cum leaking out of his ass. “Hurry up and get out,” he says instead. Rather than a command, it comes out as a huffy complaint.

Johnny doesn’t take any offense to Mark’s tone and slowly pulls away, spent dick sliding out with a grotesque squelch. Almost instantly Mark can feel it trickle out of him and onto the leather seats.

There’s also another part of Mark, the one that is smarter and holds immense knowledge about car maintenance, that is screaming at the idea of cum on leather upholstery. It’s going to be a pain to clean, especially after they’ve had sex and it’s also been covered in other gross bodily fluids.

The stupid part of Mark chimes back: let Johnny clean it, give him a constant reminder of the memory that he and Mark had fucked in here so that every time he’s doing maintenance or driving or bringing someone else to use up that lube in the glove compartment with, Mark’s presence would be there to haunt him. A precious space reserved only for the driver himself, tainted with Mark. That part of his mind feels extremely prideful in that thought.

And then to interrupt his mental battle against himself, his body begins to shiver now that he’s just laying there clad in nothing but his shirt. He manages to sit up slightly, back exploding with an aching pain that reaches down to his tailbone after being folded up so tightly, and goes to inspect the damage. He can make out a few bright red marks scattered around his torso and thighs, standing out starkly against his paler skin, and there are the beginnings of some bruises on his hips and peeking out from the backs of his knees. Johnny had done quite a number on him.

His eyes return to Johnny and his completely unblemished chest. It makes Mark vaguely disgruntled at how one-sided it turned out—that he wasn’t able to do the same to Johnny, unable to watch the muscle ripple underneath as he bites into him or admire a line of scratches in the figuration of Mark’s hand. Instead, Mark is only left staring at a sweaty chest.

His attention is soon drawn to Johnny’s hand, which he’s weirdly focused on for some reason. Mark opens his mouth to ask, but he catches a bead of something thick run down the wrist and immediately realizes what Johnny is thinking. When Mark came, it had been Johnny’s hand, still on his dick, that caught his release and stopped him from giving himself a self-facial and further embarrassing the hell out of himself.

So Mark honestly isn’t surprised when Johnny finally brings the hand up to his mouth to try and lap up the mess. But he still scrunches his nose in thinly veiled disgust. He can barely tolerate swallowing when he gives a blowjob; how can Johnny be so enthusiastic about eating that stuff all the damn time?

“You’re disgusting,” Mark says, grabbing Johnny’s shirt from off the ground and tossing it at his face with more force than necessary. It lands on Johnny's head, stray sleeve smacking him in the face, and makes him stop. “And unless you’re into eating your own jizz, help me clean up.”

Johnny pulls his shirt away with his clean hand and thankfully, wipes up whatever is left on the dirty hand with it. He purses his lips, as if actually contemplating the thought. “I didn’t think you’d be into that, but I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he answers with a sly grin.

He’s absolutely disgusting. Mark kicks him again.

"I can't stand you," he grumbles under his breath.

Johnny only winks in return.

The cleanup after is swift and, luckily for Mark's sanity, relatively silent on Johnny's part. It's only a brief respite, however, because it's almost immediately broken by Johnny exaggeratedly expressing his disappointment in not being able to eat Mark out, to which Mark reacts by cursing him out and attempting to kick him in the dick so that Johnny's horny terror will finally be put to an end. There's a whole lot less animosity in their banter this time around, something Mark could only chalk up the cause to being the afterglow of some good sex and absolutely nothing else.

Mark throws his clothes back on, unable to stand being both naked in front of Johnny and freezing his ass off. He's adjusting the cuff of his jacket when he hears a chime go off from somewhere in the car. It couldn't have been Mark's phone since he left it in the car after going to retrieve his bat during the party, so logically it could only belong to Johnny. He turns back to him, and just as he thought, Johnny is on his phone, typing rapidly to someone. He's all tucked in and zipped back up with only his own jacket he grabbed from the front seat thrown over his shoulders due to the state of his shirt. It reminds Mark of those cool, rugged looks that he's always liked, but it being Johnny dampens the sight by a sizable margin.

Johnny doesn't say anything, so Mark doesn't either. It's silent for a few more minutes until Mark finally decides that there's no point in staying any longer now that they've fucked. He turns away and opens the door, letting in a gust of chilly wind, and already has one foot out of the car when he's suddenly stopped by a hand wrapping around his wrist.

Mark looks back, ready to roll his eyes and pull away as he shoots one last insult, but is surprised at the expression he's met with. Johnny isn't looking at him, which baffles Mark because Johnny has never been the one to shy away from eye contact. It reminds him of earlier, when Johnny held his face in the alley, where he seemed almost at a loss for what to say or do. This time as well, Johnny looks like he doesn't know what to say, eyes darting down to his phone and then back to his hand circling around Mark's thin wrist.

"What are you doing?" Mark asks, and it comes out softer than he wants, like if he were to raise his voice it would break something. He tugs his hand away weakly, more for the sake of it than anything else.

"Mark," Johnny finally says after who knows how long. "About today. I—"

Mark feels like he's stopped breathing, as if the mere act of it might be too loud and that he'd miss Johnny's words if he tried to.

And then there's a loud ping again, coming right from Johnny's phone, and just as quickly as it arrived the mood instantly changed. The wind blows harshly against Mark's side, chilling him to the core, suddenly loud and merciless in his ears.

He hears Johnny curse under his breath and lets Mark's wrist fall from his grasp, snatching the phone back up and staring at it like he wanted to hurl it out the window. Despite that, his fingers are still swiping across the screen and tapping. Mark's hand hovers briefly in the air before he lets it fall limply back to his side.

He wants to ask so many things that he can feel a headache coming on from all the words rattling around in his mind, but he bites down hard on his tongue to stop himself. If Johnny isn't going to bring it up, then why should he?

He shrugs, pulling his arms around himself to brace himself against the cold and takes the second step out the car. His legs shake weakly and he almost loses his balance but he manages to maintain whatever dignity he still has by catching himself on the door. He's about to swing it closed when Johnny speaks up again.

"Hey," Johnny says, meeting his eyes this time, looking nothing like he did just moments ago. "There's gonna be another race next Saturday and Doyoung's asking if you're up for it."

Neither of them comment on why Doyoung is asking Mark through Johnny like he already knew that they'd be together.

And Mark honestly wants to say no, because he knows Johnny is going to be there too and he isn't sure if he's able to handle seeing him again if they're just going to keep this vicious cycle going. He has the refusal ready on the tip of his tongue when he opens his mouth, but one look at Johnny's expectant eyes has all his resolve crumbling away.

"I-I." He swallows his intended words down his dry throat. "Tell him I'll be there."

"Cool." And Johnny cracks a smile, going back to his phone to type out his reply. “I can’t wait.”

Mark feels the complete opposite. His fingers squeeze the door, bones straining and skin stretching across his white knuckles. He’s overwhelmed with the sheer urge to run away and never have to think about this encounter or what had just happened before Doyoung’s message came ever again. Back there, he felt like if Johnny were to actually go through with whatever he was going to say, then something was going to irreversibly change. He didn't want to let that happen.

He doesn’t know what Johnny had wanted to say to him. There was something in the air then; thinking back on it, it makes the hair on his nape stand on end, akin to the feeling of sensing danger. It _was_ dangerous, whatever he had with Johnny back there.

But Johnny also doesn't stop Mark when he finally slams the door closed, leaving him alone in the car and Mark ready to brave the cold while making it back to his own without even a word of acknowledgement. That's just how it is between them.

Mark's body moves almost automatically to his car, parked back near the party venue a considerable walk away, his mind straying away from him even as his feet move on instinct. Slipping in, the first thing he does is crank the heater up to max, letting the warm air heat up his shivering body. He lets himself slouch in his seat, leaning forward to rest his arms on the steering wheel. Being behind the wheel always helps him relax. In a way, his car feels like a second home, providing him the privacy that his life always seems to lack when he’s got a fanbase and nosy friends. He breathes in a deep breath and starts the engine.

He really should be going home by now—it’s late, he’s tired as hell, and emotionally drained—but he wants to savor this time away from anyone else before he has to return to his apartment and be faced with the disapproving looks from his roommates who know just exactly what he’s been getting up to each and every time. He catches his phone in the corner of his eye, thrown down on the passenger seat and shut off to ignore any calls or messages. He’s sure that he’s probably got quite a few upset voicemails asking him where he is.

Ignoring the things that matter has almost become a second nature to Mark now.

He takes the long way back home, his body acting on autopilot when he’s commanding the wheel. Under the purr of the engine, Mark’s mind begins to wander again. Unfortunately, the first thing, person, actually, who comes to mind is the one whom Mark hates thinking about. He tries to get Johnny out of his mind, knowing that nothing would ever come of him dwelling on what-if situations and unsaid words.

He forces himself to focus on other things, like the upcoming race he now has to participate in. It works for the most part, his mind running through today's race and looking back on every small error with his car or technique and how he can fix or improve upon them for next time. It's a much welcome distraction from the other thoughts bouncing around his head. Thinking so methodically helps him relax.

But thinking about racing means that he'll be competing against Johnny again, which brings him back to his main problem. Leave it to him to ruin Mark's only interests with just his mere presence being associated with it. The rest of Mark's drive back is no longer relaxing.

It's only when he's pulling up to his driveway that he realizes—he had forgotten his bat back in the alley. In frustration, Mark slumps over and bumps his forehead against the wheel, causing the horn to honk loudly and most likely waking his roommates and everyone else in his neighborhood. He jolts back up, running a hand through his hair with a woeful groan and mutters curses to every god, deity, and Johnny Suh.

He's going to need a new bat by next Saturday.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for making it to the end i hope you liked it;;
> 
>   
> [twt](https://www.twitter.com/kihyukest)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/adstalaria)


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